


Bat Out of Hell

by NyuuHime



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Aged-Up Otabek Altin, Aged-Up Yuri Plisetsky, Alternate Universe - 1960s, Alternate Universe - 1970s, Alternate Universe - Afterlife, Bat Out of Hell (Album), Bisexual Otabek Altin, Blood and Injury, Consensual Underage Sex, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Excessive Drinking, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, Motorcycle Crash, Near Death Experiences, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Otabek Altin, Purgatory, Songfic, Tags Contain Spoilers, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-05-31 07:32:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15114686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NyuuHime/pseuds/NyuuHime
Summary: "Oh, baby you're the only thing in this whole worldThat's pure and good and rightAnd wherever you are and wherever you goThere's always gonna be some light,But I gotta get out, I gotta break out nowBefore the final crack of dawnSo we gotta make the most of our one night togetherWhen it's over, you know,We'll both be so alone"------Otabek Altin finds himself looking back at his past after a motorcycle wreck that leaves his life hanging in the balance. If he doesn't recognize his own sins, it could cost him everything.**Otayuri****60s/70s AU****Based on the Bat Out of Hell album by Meat Loaf**





	1. Heaven Can Wait

**Author's Note:**

> ***TAGS HAVE BEEN UPDATED***
> 
> ***CHAPTER HAS BEEN UPDATED AS OF 1/31/2019***
> 
> I'm excited to have a second Otayuri fic to work on between writing chapters for my Beauty and the Beast AU! Updates will continue for both simultaneously so updates hopefully won't be as spaced out. 
> 
> Also this is (somewhat loosely) based on the story told in Bat Out of Hell, so here's your listening homework for this chapter: 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C-SllzH8D4A
> 
> Enjoy!

**_October 21 st, 1977_ **

_Am I dreaming right now?_

I stared at the wreckage in front of me, watching the smoke swell from my 1974 Ossa Phantom 250, unable to process exactly what I was looking at. Had I crashed? I didn’t remember getting on my bike in the first place, let alone riding out here. I wasn’t even sure where “here” was – this wasn’t my garage, and it definitely wasn’t any road I was familiar with. I was surrounded by dirt and brush, with no familiar landmarks to speak of. I felt lightheaded – sounds were dampened, sights were fuzzy, like I was in a fever.

“Otabek Altin?”

I turned to the mysterious voice to be greeted by a man dressed all in white, a smart-looking button-up shirt and pressed slacks, complete with white loafers and square-framed spectacles. In his hand was a clipboard, on which he was writing with a white pen. He seemed to glow, which only made me surer that I was dreaming now. I tried to speak, but no words came out.

“Just shake your head yes or no if that’s your name,” the man said, glancing up from his clipboard. I nodded feebly, confused, and once he had that confirmation he went back to jotting down notes.

“Wh-why can’t I talk?” I choked out.

“Sounds like you just did,” he said, chuckling at his own joke. “It’s pretty common for some people to lose their speech after a traumatic event. It usually comes back after a few minutes.” He cupped my chin and turned my head to face him. I was taken aback by the feeling of his hand on my face – it felt weightless, like being brushed by a feather. “Follow my pen with your eyes and try not to move your head.” I followed his orders as best I could, and after a moment he looked satisfied and checked off something on his list. “Looks like your vision was unaffected, and your hearing is obviously fine. How’s the speech coming?”

“I don’t kn-know,” I stammered. It felt like I had a lump in my throat, and no amount of swallowing helped.

“It’s passable,” he said decidedly, writing something else down on his ever-growing list. “It’ll come back completely in a bit. Lastly, do you have any recollection of what happened tonight?”

“No,” I answered. “D-Did you say suh…something about traum…truh…”

“Traumatic event,” he finished. “Sounds like you’ve got a little remembering to do. That’s fine, we’ve got plenty of time.”

“What h-happened?” I asked.  “And who are you?”

“Oh, silly me,” he answered casually, as if there were no mention of trauma just a few seconds ago. “My name is Yuuri, I’m here to guide you through this transitional period of the afterlife.”

“Afterlife?” Now I felt sure I was dreaming. The weird, hazy feeling and my inability to speak or remember anything would make sense if this was all in my head – dreams ran on complete nonsense logic. Plus, that fact that his name was Yuuri far too coincidental to be anything but a dream.

“Uh huh,” said Yuuri. “I’ve got you classified as a near-death experience, which is really just a temporary placeholder between living and dying. What happens in the next couple of hours or so will ultimately determine if you come back or not.” He glanced over at the burning bike. “I hate to be a Negative Nancy, but if I’m being perfectly honest it’s not looking good.”

“This can’t be real,” I said slowly, my words starting to come a little easier. “I’m dreaming right now.”

“As much as I’d like to agree with you, I can assure you that this is very real,” said Yuuri.

“Pr-Prove it,” I said.

Yuuri glanced at his clipboard and flipped back the first page. “Let’s see…your name is Otabek Altin, date of birth October 31st, 1948. Born in Hicksville, New York, grew up about forty-five minutes away in the Bronx. Your father relocated to the United States from Kazakhstan in 1945, your mother is from Reading, Massachusetts.”

“Big deal,” I scoffed. “If this is a dream, th-then of course I already know all that.”

“I had a feeling you’d say that,” said Yuuri. “There’s really no way around this, Otabek, this is one-hundred percent real.”

“Your name is Yuuri,” I said, his name hanging heavy from my lips. It almost felt unreal to say his name out loud, but I couldn’t quite place why. “My real life is integrated into the dr-dream, it’s the only explanation.”

“Ah, now I see where the confusion might lie,” said Yuuri, snapping his fingers. “Sorry about that, I guess it is a little incidental that I share the same name as someone in your life, but I promise that it was purely by chance that I got assigned to you.”

I paused, glaring at him through narrowed eyes. This whole situation felt unreal and yet strangely real at the same time, and part of me was starting to panic. _What if he isn’t lying?_

“Still not convinced?” he asked. I shook my head, not ready to accept defeat yet. He tutted. “We may just have to wait until your memory starts to come back, it probably doesn’t help that you don’t remember the traumatic event prior to this.”

“Can you tell me about it?”

Yuuri looked back at front page of his clipboard. “Let’s see…the report I have here says you wrecked your motorcycle, didn’t see a sudden curve until it was too late. It says that you’re dying, but at the moment you’re not considered unsalvageable. If somehow there’s a last-minute intervention you could still be saved, but chances are slim. We’re in the middle of nowhere, and your injuries are pretty severe.”

Bits of the night’s events were coming back to me piece by piece. I remembered getting on my motorcycle, but not much beyond that. Was it possible that he was telling the truth?

“If I crashed, then how am I st-standing here? I feel f-fine,” I said, holding my arms out.

Yuuri smiled sympathetically. “It’s easy to feel fine when you’re no longer attached to a physical body. Which, incidentally, is still here.” He pointed at the wreckage with his pen. I wandered over to the smoking bike – sure enough, there I was. At least, it _looked_ kind of like me. The body I saw was torn and twisted at the foot of the motorcycle, a dark pool of blood growing under it. The face was a mess, cut up and bloated beyond recognition. The only indication that this could possibly be me was the leather army jacket with my Vietnam patch on the back.

“I want to go back,” I said. “Since this is probably a dream, I can just wake m-myself up.”

“Unfortunately, I don’t think that’s possible,” said Yuuri. “The only way to come back from a near-death experience is for someone to save you Unless...”

“Unless…?”

“I suppose I could put your soul back in your body. It wouldn’t be permanent, of course, given your condition. You would just end up right back here with me.”

I nodded furiously. “Send me back.” My thoughts were going a million miles a minute, I figured that maybe this could be one of those dream-logic loopholes that could possibly wake me up.

“Are you absolutely sure that this is what you want?”

“Yes, for fuck’s sake, just do it!”

Yuuri shrugged and tutted some more. “If you say so.”

I didn’t see Yuuri do anything that might indicate he was doing as I told him, but within a few seconds it was all too plain that he had. My perspective shifted with no transition to just a few feet away from where I’d been standing. I wasn’t standing anymore, though – I was sprawled on the pavement, my eyes so swollen I could barely see. Suddenly I was hyper-aware of the taste of blood in my mouth, which in turn made me hyper-aware of a dull pain lingering through my body.

I tried to roll over and my nerve endings lit up, the pain going from dull to searing in a millisecond. My screams came out garbled and strained, blood bubbling out of my mouth as I writhed on the asphalt. The pain, combined with the blood I had surely been swallowing, made me sick to my stomach, adding to the growing puddle under me. My vision went dark…

…and before I knew it, I was standing next to Yuuri again. The pain was gone, much to my relief, only to be replaced with an awful feeling of dread. I slowly turned and glared at Yuuri, who just grimaced.

“Hate to say I told you so,” he said. “Do you believe me now?”

“I still d-don’t know,” I said.

“I could always put you back-,” he began. I slapped a hand over his mouth and shook my head. Gingerly, he peeled my hand away and dabbed at his mouth with a handkerchief he procured from his breast pocket. “I see. Well, whether you believe me or not, this is what’s going on and you might as well accept it.”

I laughed incredulously. “Th-this is ridiculous.” I put both hands on top of my hand and paced around the wreckage. I could clearly see the place where I had gotten sick moments before. “H-How can I be dead?” I tried to kick the bike, but my foot went right through it.

“Not dead yet,” he reminded me. “But like I said, I wouldn’t get my hopes up if I were you.”

I kneeled next to my body. My breaths were barely coming in gasps now, my chest weakly thumping as my heart tried to keep me alive. I looked up at Yuuri. “Well? Wh-What do we do now?”

He placed the cap back on his pen and tucked it into his breast pocket where it seemed to disappear. “Come with me.” He held his hand out and helped me stand.

“Where are we going?” I asked numbly.

“Purgatory,” he answered. “Essentially you’re going to be in limbo while your fate is decided. You’ll get a chance to look back on your life if you’d like, then you’ll be sent to the next phase. That’ll depend on if you survive or not.”

“Great, can’t wait,” I said sarcastically. “Better hurry up, looks like I d-don’t have much time left.”

“Actually, we’ve got nothing but time,” said Yuuri. “Earth time moves much slower compared to time in this realm.” He pulled out a golden pocket watch. “Only about thirty seconds of Earth time have passed since your wreck.”

“Huh,” I said, glancing back at my body. I could’ve sworn that I had seen my ragged breaths and beating heart in real time. “Like Narnia.”

 “Yes,” said Yuuri with a gentle smile. “Like Narnia.” With that, he took my hand and a golden light enveloped us, carrying me to whatever was to come next.

.:.:.:.

Before I knew it, I was sitting in a creamy white office. I stuck out like a sore thumb with my ripped jeans and leather jacket – if I were still alive, I might worry about getting the plush white chair I was sitting in dirty, but given the circumstances that was pretty low on my list of priorities.

Before he left, Yuuri told me that his work with me was complete and that he would be passing me off to someone who would discuss my next steps and would allow me to review my life if I so wished. I had made some smartass comment about how going to the afterlife felt like I was a high-profile criminal being put through the court system after being arrested. He had just laughed.

I settled into the comfy chair and clasped my hands together. Where was this guy? Were so many people dying that there weren’t enough angels to go around? I snorted at the ridiculousness of it all. Imagine, of all the people who’ve died in the world and heaven is understaffed.

“Sorry I’m late!” The door behind me flew open and a tall man with silver hair hurried in, a mug in one hand and a file in the other. A little coffee splashed over the edge of the cup and onto his clean white button-up shirt. As soon as the stain settled, it disappeared completely.

I raised an eyebrow at him. “I didn’t know angels felt the need to eat or drink.”

He chuckled. “Angels enjoy earthly pleasures once in a while too, you know.” He settled in behind his desk and opened my file. “Mr. Altin is it?”

“Yeah,” I answered. “Your name’s not Yuri too, is it?”

“Oh no, no,” he said with a wave of his hand. “Yuuri did inform me of that, and we deeply apologize for that. I know it’s a sensitive time to be reminded of loved ones back on Earth.” He extended his hand. “My name is Viktor, Mr. Altin, and I’m going to be chatting with you today.”

I shook his hand. “Call me Otabek.”

“Well Otabek,” he began, thumbing through the file. “It’s a sticky situation you’ve gotten yourself into, I’ll tell you that.”

“That’s what the other one told me,” I said. “I still don’t remember everything though.”

“I had a feeling that would be the case,” said Viktor. “I’ve already asked for preparations to be made so you can review your life.”

“Look,” I said, putting my hand on the desk. “This has to be some kind of mistake.”

“Hmmm no, there doesn’t appear to be a mistake,” he answered, glancing over my file again. “Your life is certainly hanging in the balance, we haven’t processed you as deceased yet. I wouldn’t get my hopes up if I were you, though.”

 _What the hell?_ I couldn’t wrap my head around how he could be so calm when I was on the brink of death. In the back of my mind, it occurred to me that this was his job, after all – he’d probably heard every sob story known to man.

“I’m too young to die,” I said, feeling my voice grow in volume. “I’ve left people behind back on Earth, I need to get back to them.”

“That’s not quite what I’m reading here,” said Viktor contemplatively, running his index fingers down the page in front of him.

“What do you mean? What does it say?”

“That’s classified information for the time being.”

Now I was getting angry. “Are you joking? That’s my damn file, why can’t I read it?”

“It contains sensitive information for someone whose memory has been compromised. I’m just following policy.” It made me angry how calm and collected he was about this whole thing. My life was hanging in the balance and he was talking to me like time wasn’t a factor.

“Screw the policy, man, I’m not ready to go to heaven yet!” I slammed both hands on his desk.

He looked at me blankly, with an expression that seemed to say, _“I would thank you to take your dirty mitts off my desk.”_ He brushed my hands away as if he were shooing a fly. “I’m just doing my job, but if you’re going to be belligerent then I’m going to be frank with you: if you die tonight then you most certainly aren’t going to heaven.”

His words hit me like a ton of bricks. I sank back in the plush white chair numbly. There were so many things I wanted to ask him – why wouldn’t I be going to heaven? What have I done that was so horrible that I had earned myself a one-way ticket to eternal damnation?

Viktor seemed unfazed. I probably wasn’t the first person he’d had to break bad news to that night. “I think a review will be in order. The preparations should be complete momentarily.” He took a sip of his coffee, relishing in its taste, seemingly unaware of the fact that I was spiraling into despair right in front of him.

“So I’m going to hell? Is that what you’re telling me right now?” I asked.

He nodded. “If you die tonight, yes.”

“What if I don’t believe in hell?” I challenged, desperate for anything that might give me an out.

“I can assure you that hell doesn’t care whether you believe in it or not.”

“My father was born in Kazakhstan – his whole family is Muslim.”

“Not true,” said Viktor. “It says right here he was a member of the Russian Orthodox Church before coming to America. Besides, Muslims do believe in a form of hell, so that argument wouldn’t hold up even if your logic was correct.”

“My mother was Jewish.”

“Also not true,” said Viktor. “Presbyterian. In fact, it says here that you were baptized at her family’s church.”

“I still don’t believe in hell.”

“We’ve been over this, Otabek,” said Viktor, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “And for the record, lying isn’t helping your case.”

The door opened again and two more angels wheeled in a large screen, bigger than any television set I’d ever seen. They left as quickly as they’d appeared, and Viktor took a remote control from the stand. I momentarily forgot my anger as I watched him operate it – I had only ever seen one in the window at the electronics store and it was neat to see it in action.

“We can look back at any period of your life and view it exactly as it happened,” said Viktor. “This gives a lot of people perspective on their behavior during their life.”

“Any period?” I asked. “Like, when I was a baby or something?”

“You could if you wanted to,” he said. “Though that won’t get you anywhere, given that babies don’t really have much capacity for sin.”

I stared at the screen, trying to imagine the possibilities. “I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

Viktor pressed the power button on the remote. “I have an idea.” He punched in a few numbers that appeared on the screen. “Let’s go back to when you first met the person you’ve hurt the most.”


	2. You Took the Words Right Out of My Mouth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey ho, it's been forever since I updated this story, but I'm really happy with how this one turned out! Hopefully this one can help the story gain a little more traction. Also I'm still in the process of updating tags, which will happen periodically as I go through each chapter.
> 
> Here's your listening homework for this chapter: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2t11CwlG444
> 
> Also, I have a tumblr that you should totally check out: nyuuhime.tumblr.com

**_June 9 th, 1965_ **

**_Fresno, California_ **

I opened the door of my Thunderbird, stepping out into the stifling, humid air and taking a shaky breath. I didn’t know what I was so nervous about – I had been going to McLane High School since April, so the new-kid syndrome had worn off by now. I knew a few people’s names at this point but I could only spot one or two familiar faces in the small group that was trekking down the dirt path to the beach at Huntington Lake, laughing and chattering, girls carrying their parasols and picnic baskets and guys carrying portable ice boxes that were undoubtedly full of alcohol that had either been pilfered from parents’ refrigerators or purchased by older friends and siblings.

I ran my fingers through my messy black hair, feeling cold and jittery even though it was much hotter than what I was used to back in New York. My classmates’ invitation to their end-of-the-school-year cookout felt almost obligatory, as if they’d included me out of pity instead of genuine interest. As such, I felt sick to my stomach as I finally worked up the nerve to follow behind the group at a safe distance.

Once I made it to the beach area, I was taken aback. When I heard the word “beach,” I pictured endless horizons and huge, arcing waves. It was the kind of imagery I imagine most people conjured up when they pictured California. I was met with a thick forest on the other side of the water with piddly waves splashing weakly against the sand. I thought that everyone in California was crazy about surfing. I shook my head as if I were erasing a half-baked doodle on an Etch-a-Sketch, trying to banish the stupid notion from my brain.

“Otabek!” Someone called at me from across the beach, a face I recognized but couldn’t quite put a name to. He was one of the first people to introduce himself to me – he’d noticed my Yankees hat and started up a conversation about baseball with me. He was waving me over, and I reluctantly complied, feeling everyone’s eyes on me as I walked across the sand.

“Glad you could make it, man,” he said, slapping me on the back, almost knocking the wind out of me and forcing me to hold back a cough. He stood a few inches taller than me, tanned and muscular, with a black undercut not unlike my own. He wore a white McLane Highlanders football t-shirt, which he pulled over his head and tossed onto a nearby blanket. “Hope you didn’t have too much trouble finding the place.”

“Nah, not at all,” I said shakily. In reality I’d had to stop a few times to look at my map and get my bearings. I wasn’t used to driving much of anywhere, let alone a completely different state. I could easily navigate the street of New York City, but gone were the days of gridline streets, subways, and cabs. I was responsible for driving myself now, which is probably why my dad had shelled out to get me a used car.

“Well, make yourself comfortable,” he said, picking up a football off his beach blanket.

“JJ, I’m open!” called someone, going long. JJ, whose name I direly tried to commit to memory, tossed a perfect spiral to the kid and took off running.

I hadn’t properly prepared, not really knowing what all to bring to a beach party. I felt stupid just sitting down on the bare sand in my swim trunks. I didn’t even have anything to drink of my own and I was tempted to bum a drink off someone, not that cheap beer really appealed to me. Feeling like an idiot, I sat down and pulled off my Chucks, setting them aside and digging my toes into the pebbly sand.

I sat and just observed for a while. I watched as JJ passed the football to some kid with his long hair twisted into a bun. He instantly reminded me of the hippie stereotype I’d heard about but never really seen – all he needed was a doobie and some tie-dye and he’d fit the bill. One girl, a fiery redhead, intercepted the pass back to JJ and took off with the ball. The hippie bolted after her and picked her up by the waist and spun her around. California kids were wild.

“Can I offer you a drink?” The voice startled me a little and I jerked my head to see a dark-haired lad sitting next to me, holding a Budweiser in his outstretched hand. As much as I wanted to turn up my nose at it, a cold drink on a hot day did sound pretty refreshing. Plus, this guy didn’t seem too threatening – his friendly black eyes weren’t looking me over like a piece of meat, unlike most of the kids I’d met so far. I took his offer with a silent nod of thanks.

We sat together for a while, sipping on cold beer and soaking in the day. A few boys trickled in and joined in on passing the football back and forth. Soon enough they had formed teams and started playing for real. Girlfriends watched on the sidelines, calling out their boyfriends’ names and cheering them on.

“I don’t think I’ve ever introduced myself,” said my companion, extending a hand. “Phichit Chulanont.”

“Phichit Chulanont,” I repeated clumsily, shaking his hand. “That’s a unique name.” I immediately wanted to smack myself. What the hell kind of thing was that to say?

He chuckled. “And that’s a unique accent…?” He paused, waiting for me to fill in the blank.

“Er, Otabek,” I replied.

“You’re pretty unique all around, aren’t ya?” he asked, taking a sip of beer. I didn’t have a response to that. I wasn’t used to someone talking to me like this – most city kids just keep to themselves. They’ve got places to be and no time for bullshit. Not Phichit Chulanont, evidently.

Phichit set his beer down and screwed it into the sand so it wouldn’t tip over. “You came from New York, right? How are you adjusting?”

“Okay, I guess,” I answered.

“If you need anything, let me know. I’d be glad to help you out.” He put his hands behind his head and reclined, not a care in the world that his bare back wasn’t shielded from the hot sand by a towel or blanket. I sat in silence, unable to think of anything I could possibly need help with. Not that I wanted to get all chummy with these guys just to have to leave them at graduation next year. I wondered what my old friends back in New York were doing at this moment. It was about lunchtime back home, meaning they were probably trying to decide which diner served the best corned beef sandwich, only to go to the same one on 35th and 6th we always went to. They’d probably be sneaking into the movies or shooting pool later that evening, depending on where the night took them. I envied them – a late-night slice of pizza and people-watching on the city streets, activities I once found mundane, sounded almost heavenly. It’s bittersweet how you never know when you’re in the good old days until you’ve left them.

Phichit seemed to grow bored of me and wandered off somewhere, taking his beer with him. I supposed that was fair, seeing as I was a pretty sorry conversation partner. I opted to stay where I was and watch the commotion going on around me. The impromptu game of football was still going on and had amassed a few more players as more kids trickled in. The girls seemed to be more apt to sit under their umbrellas, chattering and sipping at their beers. Some other, less athletic-looking kids were wandering along the shore, fresh water splashing meagerly at their toes. Others were gathered around the park grill, scratching their heads as they tried to figure out how to light the coals.

“Heads up!”

Suddenly a wave of sand hit me in the face, filling my mouth and burning my eyes. I grunted and screwed my eyes shut. I could hear someone bounding over. “Sorry man, Mickey doesn’t know his own strength.” He was gone as quickly as he’d appeared, leaving me still blind and gritty-mouthed. I shook my head back and forth, hoping someone would notice my plight. Evidently everyone was still wrapped up in whatever they were doing. _And I thought New Yorkers were self-centered._

“Hey, you alright?”

_Oh, thank God._

The voice grabbed my hand and helped me stand up. “Here, come this way.” It didn’t sound like any voice I recognized, not that I knew these people that well anyway. I reluctantly let this person lead me somewhere like a seeing-eye dog. I didn’t like feeling helpless, especially in a group of perfect strangers.

“Kneel down.”

My initial reaction was to disobey him. Nothing good ever comes from someone asking you to get on your knees, especially not when you’re blinded by sand. But his gentle hand on my shoulder guided me down to the sand, and I found myself unable to resist him. He took my hand and moved it forward, where I felt cold water at my fingertips. Realization dawned on me and I wanted to kick myself for being so paranoid – he was trying to help me after all.

I cupped my hands and took a big mouthful of water, swishing it around and spitting it out. It took a few swigs to get all the sand out. Once I did, I took a few more handfuls and rinsed out my eyes. I blinked a few times to test, squinting at the bright sun. Everything seemed to be alright now.

“You good?”

I turned toward the voice, direly curious about who this mystery miracle worker was. I was taken aback when I saw him – skinny and short, with a fair complexion and matching white-blond shoulder-length hair covered by a floppy hat. His piercingly blue eyes would have looked intimidating if it weren’t for the concern etched on his face.

He gave me a small smile with his unusually pink lips. “Gotta watch out when there’s football going on. They throw that thing with reckless abandon.”

My mouth hung agape. Something was going funny in my brain – I was completely captivated looking at this guy. It almost felt wrong calling him a guy – “boy” felt more appropriate with him, given his petite stature and young, almost effeminate, features. His hawkish eyes looked at me with worry, his eyebrows drawn together and his nose crinkled. In that moment I found myself inadvertently gawking at him.

He waved a hand in front of my face. “Anybody home?”

I coughed, my voice still gravelly. “Uh yeah. Thanks.”

“No problem.” He helped me stand back up. “Your beer is over there, maybe that’ll help wash out the rest of the sand. Probably tastes better than lake water."

“Not much better,” I croaked. He giggled – I don’t mean chuckled, I mean an honest-to-god melodious _giggle_ – and started walking toward where I had been sitting. He walked with a purpose, like he had places to be and things to do and he wasn’t going to let anyone get in his way – eyes forward, head held high, and focused stride. He would’ve fit right in on a busy city street, and I would’ve followed him anywhere.

He grabbed my beer from where I had screwed it into the sand and offered it to me. I graciously accepted and took a small swig, spitting it out on the beach. Poor Phichit probably wouldn’t have been happy to see his drink go to waste, but he wasn’t watching anyway. I didn’t particularly care – it was cheap anyway. If I’d been buying the booze, I would’ve opted for the harder stuff.

“Are you over here by yourself?” asked Yuri.

“Ah, yeah,” I said in a shaky voice. What was I so nervous about? Why did this little vixen of a boy tie my tongue up in knots?

“You can come over to my blanket if you want,” he said, pointing to a spot far away from the commotion. He didn’t wait for me to answer – he just turned on his heel and took off. I was compelled to follow him, like a mouse to the pied piper.

His setup was far more appealing than just sitting on the bare beach – a large picnic blanket, a parasol big enough to fit six people under it, a decently-sized cooler, a little radio playing The Beatles’ “I Feel Fine.” I was more of a Stones guy myself, but I would’ve listened to anything as long as I was near him. He picked up a book – _A Streetcar Named Desire_ – and set it aside so he could sit Indian-style on his blanket. “You can sit down, y’know.”

I coughed nervously, stammering over a few half-formed words before I gave up and silently sat down. Good God, could I be more awkward? I took a long swig of beer, praying it would loosen me up and prevent me from making a fool of myself. God, I wished I had some bourbon – that would’ve done the trick so much faster and would’ve tasted so much better.

“So, I don’t think I’ve seen you around before,” said Yuri. “Are you friends with Phichit or something?”

“Ah, no not really,” I said in a shaky voice. _Damnit._ I took another swig of beer, panicking a bit when I realized I was running low. I glanced over at his cooler, praying there would be alcohol in it. “I just moved here.”

“Oh, you’re the new guy,” he said. “I’d heard about you, guess our paths never crossed.” Realization seemed to dawn on him, and he smacked himself in the forehead. “I didn’t even introduce myself!” He outstretched a tiny, long-fingered hand. “My name is Yuri.”

“Yuri,” I parroted. It fit him beautifully and felt so right sitting on my lips. I felt mesmerized for a moment before I had to snap back. “I’m, ah, Otabek.”

“Nice to meet you,” he said, taking my larger hand into his. Touching him sent a spark of electricity down my spine.

_Oh boy, you’ve done it now, Otabek._

I’d always been a little wary about getting close to people, especially when they made me feel like this. The earliest age I could recall having a crush on another guy was when I was eleven years old – I couldn’t for the life of me remember his name, but I sure as hell remember my little heart pounding out of my chest as some parent tied our ankles together for the three-legged race at a church picnic. We ended up coming in last place because I was so nervous that I kept tripping us up. I don’t think he liked me much after that, and my young self could barely stand the heartbreak. I’d begun questioning myself – was I gay? That question was answered around the time I started seventh grade: I got a similar feeling when a girl in my history class asked to borrow a pencil. My dumb ass gave away my only pencil, but I was so flustery and goo-goo-eyed that it barely registered in my mind what I’d done.

Point is, I’ve always kind of swung both ways.

Back then, I knew I had to keep it a secret, not that this was a particularly difficult task. I was so painfully shy that I never approached anyone who drew my interest. Occasionally someone would make the first move on me, stealing a long kiss in an alleyway, hands wandering, the danger of someone spotting us making it all the more exciting. Outside of a few…shall we say, choice experiences in certain parts of the city, I was always too scared shitless to initiate an encounter. Hiding my attraction to men wasn’t too challenging either – I had done fine in my friend group back in New York, mostly because I wasn’t attracted to any of them. Regardless of whether they were male or female, my romantic interests had always seemed so unapproachable, either because of their natural dispositions or the mental pedestal I had put them on, which always kept me from being forward.

Not Yuri.

“Where did you move from?” he asked, turning to face me.

“New York,” I answered.

“That explains the Yankees hat I guess,” he joked. At that moment, I realized there was a stark contrast between how we were both dressed – he looked like he walked out of a clothing catalog with his short, mint green swimming trunks and his white button-up shirt that he wore loose over his small, hairless chest. A pair of leather sandals laid on the sand next to his blanket, matching the brown sun hat on his head. I, on the other hand, wore a plain gray t-shirt and black swim trunks that had certainly seen better days (which, to my credit, did match my well-worn Yankees hat).

“Yeah, uh, you like baseball then?” I asked hopefully.

He wrinkled his nose and shook his head. “I’ve never really been much of an athlete. I don’t know if you could tell by my physique.” He flexed a skinny arm with gusto.

I laughed. “You could’ve fooled me.” Any disappointment I might have felt was completely cancelled out by his charm – it had evaporated the second I saw that sweet smile grace his lips.

“Yeah, I’m more of a drama club person,” he said. That certainly explained his book. “Though I have danced for a few shows.”

“Hey, I’d call that athletic,” I said. I gulped down the last of my beer and the bottle – along with my worries – was forgotten. Talking to him was as natural as breathing, and the more we talked the more my anxiety dissipated.

Before he could even respond, the football landed with a thud in front of us, spraying us with sand. The poor sap who had failed to catch the pass bounded over to us. “Hey, sorry ab-…”

“Yeah it is pretty sorry!” shouted Yuri, who had leapt to his feet with amazing (and terrifying) speed. “Watch where you’re throwing that thing or I’ll kick it into the lake, you hear me?!”

That poor guy. His eyes were fixed on the ground as he knelt down to pick up the ball, like a dog with his tail between his legs. Before Yuri could lambast him again, he was gone.

Yuri sat back down, smoothing his shirt and adjusting his hat as if he hadn’t just verbally castrated someone. I just sat there, mouth agape.

I had never been more turned on by anyone in my entire life.

“So, New York, huh?”

I snapped back. Seemed like spacing out around Yuri was becoming a bit of a habit. “Uh, yeah.”

“I’ve always wanted to go there,” he said dreamily. “What’s the Statue of Liberty like?”

I froze, rubbing the back of my head nervously. “I’ve, uh, actually never seen it before.”

“What?” he exclaimed, jaw dropped. “But it’s right there!”

I chuckled. “Heh, it’s a bit of a stereotype about New Yorkers. Most of the people I know who lived in the city have never been to the landmarks. It’s more of a tourist thing.”

“That’s so strange,” he said amusedly. “If I lived there, I’d want to do all the sightseeing I could. The Statue of Liberty, the Empire State building, Times Square…”

“If it’s any consolation, I have been to Central Park,” I offered.

Yuri sighed wistfully. “I bet it’s beautiful in the spring.” I pictured him walking through falling blossom petals and had to snap myself out of it. Now _there_ was a fantasy I could get lost in. “I’d love to see a Broadway play, too.”

I coughed nervously, yet again. “Hey, uh, I don’t suppose you have any beer in there, do ya?” I asked, pointing at the cooler.

“I’ll do you one better,” he said, flipping the lid open and digging around in the ice. He produced two glasses, some cranberry juice, and a bottle of vodka. Unfamiliar letters decorated the label.

“Wow, fancy,” I said.

“My parents are originally from Russia,” he explained. “My mom knows where to find the good vodka.” I almost melted a little at how he pronounced _vodka_ – I could hear those Russian roots in that sweet voice. He poured two drinks and handed me one. I drank greedily, savoring the tart juice and the bite of the liquor.

The conversation seemed to die off as Yuri picked up his book and continued reading where he’d left off. I didn’t complain – I wasn’t much of a talker anyway, and I was more than content to just lay in the shade, not having to interact with anyone I didn’t want to and occasionally stealing glances at Yuri. He occasionally licked his unusually-pink lips when he was deep in thought, which I noticed were slightly iridescent. Was he wearing lipstick? I was dying to ask for a taste.

_You’re in so fuckin’ deep._

The rest of the afternoon passed by fairly uneventfully. Yuri kept his nose buried in his book, occasionally popping up to make an observation about our cohorts off in the distance. I didn’t have much to say – I was enjoying the warmth. I may have even dozed off a few times.

We only left the blanket once when the burgers were ready. Something about the late spring air and sunny day made me absolutely ravenous. I loaded up my burger with whatever toppings and condiments I could. Yuri, on the other hand, was more content to just get himself some potato chips. We opted to take our food back to the blanket instead of eating at the picnic table.

“No burger?”

Yuri shook his head. “I’m a vegetarian.” He reached into his cooler and took out a sandwich wrapped in tinfoil. He unwrapped it and revealed an actually pretty tasty-looking concoction of tomatoes, peppers, spinach, olives, and a bunch of other ingredients I couldn’t even make out.

“Is cheese vegetarian?” I asked, pointing at the slice of swiss that was poking out the side of the bread.

He shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. All I know is that it’s delicious.” I laughed as he took a bite. He ate daintily, like a bird. “Looks like you’re still hungry even after your sand appetizer earlier.”

I laughed again, looking at my overflowing plate. “What can I say? I’m a growing boy.” We grew silent again as we tucked in. It’s funny – I hated awkward silences. I would surround myself with talkative people because I knew there wouldn’t be any. But with Yuri, not only was I willing to keep up my end of the conversation, the silences weren’t awkward. They were…more peaceful, I decided. Like we were still enjoying each other’s company without the need to fill it with meaningless noise.

Our shadows grew longer as the set began to set. The other kids were going about building a bonfire on the beach. Yuri and I seemed to silently agree that we didn’t plan on joining them.

“Y’know, I don’t remember the last time I enjoyed someone’s company this much,” said Yuri.

“Oh?” My heart began racing.

“Yeah. Usually my friends drag me to these things and I end up sitting on the beach by myself. But I dunno, today was really nice.”

I could feel him inching closer to me, oh god. “Yeah,” I said nervously. “I enjoyed myself too.”

Yuri scooted closer and closer until he was sitting right next to me. I froze. He leaned his head on my shoulder, sending sparks of electricity throughout my body, so much so that I jolted.

He immediately moved his head and began to scoot away. “I’m sorry, I-I didn’t mean-,”

I waved my hands. “No no no, it’s not that…I mean…if y-you wanted to…”

We just looked at each other for a moment, staring into each other’s eyes. “So, I didn’t misread the situation?” he asked quietly. “Can I…?”

I could feel myself blushing furiously. I awkwardly rubbed the back of my head. “You can, I mean, yeah, y’know…whatever it was-,”

I was interrupted by his lips gently pressing against mine. “You talk too much,” he said coyly.

It was like hot syrup was filling my body. My heart was pounding harder than ever, so much that I thought I might have a heart attack. _What a way to go_ , I thought. _If this is how I die, then at least I died blissfully._ As soon as he pulled away from me, my eyes went directly to his beautiful lips. I leaned in again and, being the awkward dope I was, hoped he would guide me. He did – his hand reached up to caress my face as he deepened the kiss. I mimicked him, tracing his jawline with my thumb.

“Otabek,” he whispered as I kissed near his earlobe. It was starting to come back to me now – my lips made a dotted line down his jaw. I stopped when I could hear him moan, giving the sweet spots a little extra attention. He shivered when I moved down to his neck, and I took that as an invitation to continue, almost certainly leaving love bites in my wake. He rolled over and I followed him.

“What about the others?” he asked breathlessly.

“They won’t have to know,” I whispered between kisses. “They aren’t paying us any mind.”

“Oh don’t stop,” he moaned. That drove me _wild._ I all but mounted him, wanting to keep hearing him whisper sweet nothings in my ear. He pulled away slightly, turning the tables and rolling over on top of me. “Your turn,” he whispered, nibbling at my earlobe. I was somewhat used to being submissive, but I’d never enjoyed it so much before. He knew exactly where to put his lips to make me melt.

After a few heated moments, we broke apart, heaving breaths rocking our chests. We looked at each other as if to say, _did we just do that?_

I wrapped my arm around his shoulder, watching the fog roll over the sand. “I’ve wanted to do that all day.”

“That was nice,” said Yuri breathlessly. We were silent after that, watching the stars in each other’s arms. After a while I could tell he was starting to get tired - he yawned a few times, the most endearing sleepy little kitten yawns.

“You tired?”

“A little, yeah.”

“Maybe you should head home,” I said.

“Can’t, I rode here with Emil.”

My ears perked up slightly. Who was Emil? A past boyfriend? I could feel my jealousy starting to stir. “Oh, okay.”

“He’s gonna be here forever,” groaned Yuri. I looked over at the group sitting around the bonfire, wondering which one was Emil.

“I mean, I could give you a ride home if you want,” I offered.

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to impose. If you want to stay, I’d rather not make you have to leave early.”

“Truth be told, I’m a little worn out myself,” I said. “I was thinking about hitting the road.”

He paused. “Are you sure it’s no trouble?”

“I’m positive.”

Another pregnant pause. “Alright, Otabek, let’s pack up.” I helped carry the bulk of his setup while he carried the lighter items. No one seemed to notice that we were leaving, but we decided it was for the best. We trudged back up the dirt path back to the parking area, hand-in-hand.

* * *

 

I touched the TV screen fondly, my fingertips caressing where Yuri’s face was. “We were so young…”

Viktor smiled sympathetically. “I say this as someone who knows nothing of your life other than what’s in this file,” he said, tapping his clipboard. “But you two make a beautiful couple. It’s honestly hard to believe that you ever hurt him, looking at that.”

His words felt like a knife stabbing me in the chest. “I was so smitten with him, you have no idea. I was just a dumb kid, too chickenshit to make the first move. Hell, I ended up driving him home and nothing else happened that night. But I went to so many lengths to impress him as the days went by. I knew deep down that he was special.” I pointed at the remote control. “Can you bring up memories of a certain date?”

“Sure. Which date?”

“It would’ve been the day after the one you just showed me,” I said. “Around 10 pm, I think.”

Viktor pressed a few buttons the image of Yuri’s folks’ house appeared on the screen. I felt a lump begin to form in my throat – I had a permanent mental image of that house burned into my brain. That’s how fond my memories were of it.

I watched my younger self drive that old Thunderbird up to that blessed house and park it at the curb out front. I must’ve replayed that night from start to finish a million times: getting out of the car with a bouquet of roses, finding the window with the trellis outside and tossing pebbles at it until Yuri answered, climbing up that trellis despite Yuri telling me that I was going to get hurt, and eventually coaxing him out onto the roof to look at the stars with me. His turntable was playing A Hard Day’s Night, Yuri’s favorite album at the time, and even though it hadn’t been my favorite it quickly became associated with butterflies in my stomach and hot cheeks in my mind, which made me love it too.

“We talked about anything and everything on that drive home the night before,” I told Viktor, my eyes still glued to the screen. “I found out what his favorite play was and I immediately went out and borrowed a copy from the library. I memorized his favorite scene too.”

My younger self was lying on the roof, hands entangled in Yuri’s. “ _On a hot summer night,_ ” he recited. “ _Would you offer your throat to the wolf with the red roses?”_

Yuri didn’t miss a beat. “ _Will he offer me his mouth?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“Will he offer me his teeth?”_

_‘Yes.”_

_“Will he offer me his jaws?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“Will he offer me his hunger?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“Again. Will he offer me his hunger?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“And will he starve without me?”_

_“Yes!”_

_“And does he love me?”_

_“Yes.”_

Yuri paused for a beat. “ _Yes.”_

_“On a hot summer night, would you offer your throat to the wolf with the red roses?”_

_“Yes.”_

I watched myself break character. “I bet you say that to all the boys.”

My chest grew tight. It was starting to hit me how I was getting ready to die and leave him behind. Gone would be these beautiful memories. Would Yuri even think about these days when he remembered me?

Viktor stepped in. “I don’t mean to interrupt, but I think we should move on. There are a few more key memories we need to revisit.” He pressed a few more buttons on the remote and gone was that wonderful house, just a memory lost.


End file.
